Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia

In our previous Road Trip post, I had traveled with my parents to visit my sister’s family in South Carolina. These trips most often happened over a weekend. Of course, the weekend always ended, and we would return home.

On Sundays during a trip to visit family in South Carolina, we would rise early that morning and go to church. Over the years, we came to know many of the people at the church a few hundred miles away from our home by visiting with them. We came to understand how important these folks were to my sister’s family.

After church, we returned to the farm for lunch knowing in the back of our minds the visit was almost over. In the early years, I know we sometimes stopped to pick up lunch from Kentucky Fried Chicken. I recall this because my nephew once referred to it as Turkey Fried Chicken, a name I think of every time I see anything KFC related. Other times, we ate leftovers or my mom and sister whipped up something.

After eating, we began loading the car for our return trip to Georgia. Soon enough, the car was loaded, and we were pulling out the driveway on a four-hour trip home. We pulled away slowly from my sister’s house. Almost every time, my mom and sister shed a few tears. My sister’s family stood in their yard waving until we were out of sight. In our car we waved back until we passed the tree line where we could no longer see my sister’s family’s house.

So, it began. We retraced our route home through small towns and communities through the mountains of South Carolina and Georgia. We knew we were about halfway home when we crossed the state line into Georgia crossing over the Chattooga River, where the movie, “Deliverance”, was filmed.

A few minutes later, we usually made a stop at a convenience store. This store was locally owned. We stopped here to visit the restroom and pick up a snack. One time we pulled into the parking lot to the right side of the store. My dad saw a man walk out a door near the back of the building. There was something about the look on that man’s face or some other thing my dad noticed that made him believe that this store was selling illegal booze out the back door. I am sure he still believes this to this day. Maybe he was right. It was Sunday. It was a small town. Most small towns did not sell alcohol on Sundays, if at all. Anyway, this incident did not deter us from stopping there throughout the years. Once inside the store, Dad and I would usually pick up a candy bar and soft drink. My mom almost always chose a packaged fried pie. We made a stop here then continued our journey.

A few miles away we began our drive up a mountain. Near the very top was a roadside park area. We usually stopped here to sit at a concrete table to eat our snack. It was a nice change of pace from being stuck in the car for hours. Soon enough, we were back on the road to finish the last stretch of the ride home.

On all these trips I was always fascinated at the various road and street signs and billboards along the way. This last stretch home went by an area in a county east of our home county that pointed to a community called Ivy Log. When I was younger I actually thought John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” featured a line which said “to the place, Ivy Log, West Virginia.” Of course, the line is "to the place, I belong, West Virginia" but I just heard otherwise back then. I was sure he was singing about this “Ivy Log”. If he was singing about Ivy Log though I just never could figure the West Virginia part.

In the fall, we might pick up a football game on the static-filled AM radio. Sometimes, we stumbled across a station that provided a radio serial or show of some similar type. Mostly though, the AM radio signals bounced around providing nothing more than strange background noise.

We traveled on toward home. If Big Mama was with us, we drove her to her house. We helped her with her suitcase. We then hugged her looking forward to the next trip she would take with us.

Shortly thereafter, we pulled into our driveway about four hours or so after we left family in South Carolina. While we enjoyed being with family and being away for a short time, it was always good to be home. It never took very long to slip into the familiar and comfortable place that home provided. We unloaded the car. Usually Mom picked up the phone to call my sister to let her know we had safely made it home.

It was good to be home. Another road trip though would happen soon enough.

Playlist for "Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia"

The Marcus King Band "Goodbye Carolina"
The B-52s "Roam"
Ricky Nelson "Travelin' Man"
The Allman Brothers Band "Ramblin' Man"
Sister Rosetta Tharpe "This Train"
Shaver "I've Been To Georgia On A Fast Train"
Levon Helm "Watermelon Time in Georgia"
Eric Weissburg and Deliverance "Dueling Banjos"
Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver "Country Store"
Ella Fitzgerald & The Duke Ellington Orchestra "Sweet Georgia Brown"
John Denver "Take Me Home Country Roads"
Flatt & Scruggs "Blue Ridge Mountain Home" 

The Sound

The morning air still had a bit of summer as an ingredient but the slow motion approach of autumn now mingled in the mix. The sunshine began a deliberate intrusion onto our back deck. A September Saturday was coming to life.

I came here with a bowl of cereal on this day. I ate this for my breakfast while looking out onto the still green leaves on the trees that served as the backdrop behind the deck screen. After finishing I sat alone with my thoughts.

There are always numerous things to think about whenever a quiet moment comes around. Concerns about family and friends find their way to the forefront. Work issues creep in at times. Sometimes some national or world issue presses down hard. Now and then, old memories march through.

During this time when the sun silently stretches its rays, sometimes it is simply good to sit and listen. I tried this on this Saturday.

I heard squirrels chase each other through the trees down in the woods. In the distance, a dog barked. He was up early I thought. Even further in the distance, what sounded like a motorcycle revved its engine. I tried to measure the distance it was away from me. I heard it for a good five minutes. It sounded like it was riding from one red light to the next red light, miles away. In between stops, the noise was nearly as if it were outside on the street. Since it sounded so loud miles away, I wondered how loud it sounded right next to it. Surely, the rider suffered from hearing loss once he got to his destination.

When the motorcycle faded away, an airplane passed overhead. A quiet, constant hum blended into the background almost as soon as it started. When it left, I could hear the wind ruffling the leaves on the trees a few times.

As time moved on, I knew I could not stay here all day. There were things to do. In time, the sun’s rays would warm up the deck. All the noises of the early morning would be replaced with more of what I had already heard along with other noises like lawnmowers and weed-eaters and more traffic and people outside talking and moving around.

I am not sure how long I sat there. It was no more than a few minutes though. While I tried to just relax, from time-to-time, some of those concerns from life, still showed up.

Another thing kept showing up during this time. The birds kept singing. They chirped. Some flew overhead outside. Sometimes, it sounded as if they were carrying on a conversation with each other. They did not seem to be weighed down with the world’s cares.

There is a lesson there somewhere, isn’t there?

Look at the birds. They don’t plant, harvest, or save food in barns, but your heavenly Father feeds them. Don’t you know you are worth much more than they are?
-Matthew 6:26

The Long Haul

It has been a long haul in one sense. The time covers parts of six different months, March, April, May, June, July, and now August. If I counted every one of the days between the two points the number would be over 150. Now, at least for the immediate days ahead, I can stop numbering them.

I was scheduled to return to work this week after being away from my physical office for over five months. An unexpected minor health issue kept me away where I continued to work from home. I am thankful I remained employed at this time. I am equally grateful I could work from home during this time. These extended days were different than all the ones which came before though.

Almost every one of these days from March into August, Hannah was home with me. Jennifer continued to report to her work, so most days it was me, her and our cat, Kayla. At first, Hannah had homework to do daily which divided my time and attention. Hannah’s niece was able to bear part of that load for a time, so we are eternally grateful for her help.

Later, after Hannah’s school year ended, her scheduled summer camp canceled. Suddenly, her summer vacation was here in our house. While I planned some fun things to do, we were limited by parks and businesses being closed. That mingled in with my daily workload. We had our moments though. We used sidewalk chalk to decorate a backyard stump. We made a homemade lamp with water, a waterproof light, and a jar of beads. We even cooked smores in the heat of July’s sun. Some days, her neighborhood friend came by to stay for a few hours. We had some fun and laughs. Hopefully, some of these times will be long remembered by Hannah. Still, I cannot help but think how difficult the loss of our routine was at times for all of us.

Now, though, Hannah has returned to school. She can see her friends once again. She can bond with her teachers. She can learn new things.

On the last day, we were together before these days at home ended, I was swamped with work. It seemed as if I could not keep from falling behind. Hannah took it easy watching some movies. I felt the same feeling I have felt for over 150 days. I was torn between family and work knowing there was no easy resolution to the guilt I felt since it is so hard to find just the correct balance in such a situation. On this day, the choice was the same as it was so many days behind us, I could not spend a lot of time with Hannah or else the work piled higher.

After a phone meeting, I knew our mail had probably been delivered. I thought, at least we could go to the mailbox together, as we had done most of the days we had shared through the summer. I walked into the living room, glanced out the window only to notice the rain was coming down outside.

So much for that, I thought. Or, maybe not.

I then asked Hannah if she wanted to go to the mailbox. She said yes. We walked to the porch where she finally noticed the rain. I asked if she still wanted to go to the mailbox. She said yes. She even suggested we run to the mailbox in our bare feet. We looked at each other, smiled then ambled down the front steps breaking into a trot down the walkway into the driveway before stopping at the mailbox. I heard Hannah laugh and squeal as we ran. Fortunately, we did not slide or fall or knock each other over.

I opened the mailbox. Junk mail. The rain continued to fall.

We then turned, making our way back up the driveway, walkway, and steps in our half running-half jog. We stopped on the porch, with drenched shirts and wet hair. We laughed at ourselves and at each other.

We then noticed our wet footprints. Of course, the initial footprints were made just by reaching the safety of the porch. We chuckled at the funny shapes the footprints made. Hannah placed her feet on top of my footprints amazed at the size difference. After we examined these first footprints, they began to dry and fade away. We then walked down the steps to wet our feet again. We made our way back onto the porch so we could make more footprints.

This was a nice break for ten minutes. For Hannah, the moment was over. There is only so much you can say about a wet footprint. For me, I sensed work piling up behind my back. The push-pull of the past five months was once again providing just enough tension to weigh heavily on me.

It is too early to tell how these few months will be remembered for our family unit. Surely, we will pick out some of the fun or odd times we all experienced so we can look back and laugh. Maybe, the strain and stress that was present will slip away over time.

Hannah is too young now to understand the daily struggle I felt to balance my workday with her life. I tried not to let that pressure show. Still, it was there. I also know that battle is a heavy memory I cannot turn loose yet. I will live with it until I can reconcile it in my heart and my head. Maybe, at some point, it will stop leaning on me as much as it does now.

I can only hope that maybe sometime in the future, Hannah will see her wet footprints again then remember these days just now passed. Maybe, for a moment, it will take her back to a muggy August afternoon when she raced her dad to the mailbox in a late summer rain. And, maybe, it will make her smile and think how those days were good ones. And, maybe, she will marvel how memories are often made with little notice. Maybe she will appreciate how the same memories can fade into time like wet footprints drying before your very eyes. And, maybe she will come to understand how these memories mysteriously remain for life's long haul lingering close by to be recalled when they are needed the most.